


Desk

by Kit_SummerIsle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkwardness, M/M, NSFW, Rare Pairing, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 03:45:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: I haven't written anything in months. Tried, but it didn't work. Then about a week ago I read a prompt in one of the rare-pair comms, that I cannot find it now, but it still made me write a fic. The prompt was: Optimus Prime/Drift: Butterflies . It's not a great fic, but I'm still happy that my muse came back. Enjoy it! :-)





	Desk

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is set not long after Drift becomes a Wrecker. He is still not very sure about his position as an Autobot and Deadlock is a lot more closer to the surface than in the later times. It makes Drift nervous but also it makes him try even harder. Sometimes the two collide...

Drift was nervous, understandably so in his opinion. None of the Wreckers understood it though, but then, they were Autobots in all their functioning and hardly ever gave a damn about High Command's opinion about them. So they just clapped his back and told him not to worry and that was that. For them. Drift though... Drift knew just how close Deadlock still lurked to the surface, how easily he still came out when provoked and how hard it was to keep him in check. For this, the Wreckers were not really the best company for him – they understood Deadlock a little too well, they accepted his excesses a little too easily now that he was on this side... and for all the Autobot badges they wore, they behaved uncomfortably like Decepticons in battles. But they were trusted and they were, they had always been unquestionably Autobots. 

Drift though... Drift wasn't. Hadn't been. He used to be Deadlock and all that slag it entailed. Hence the order to return to the headquarters for a psych eval or something of the like. And report to Optimus Prime in fact for starters. And that was exactly what gave Drift the butterflies in his tank. He could handle shrinks and suspicious spec ops, he was firmly an Autobot now, honestly one, and he could definitely keep Deadlock at bay while away from a battlefield. But facing Optimus Prime and the Matrix? They said there were no secrets, no duplicity, no agendas kept hidden when it came to the artifact of Primus. It wasn't an interrogation device, but it could easily have been – if not for its holder, the leader of the Autobots, Optimus Prime. Still, it was said that he could see into the spark of any mech, deep into his soul and through his processor. It was unnerving... and Drift had depths that were still dark and the shadow of Deadlock lurked in those hidden depths. What if the Prime saw it and judged him unworthy of the badge he wore?

But he couldn't say no when the order came and so now he was on a shuttle bound to Cybertron, about to land at the Iacon port and report to Prowl first – him, Drift could handle too, he was just pedantic and a stickler for rules, and though Drift didn't like rules any more than Deadlock had, he could act like he did. Any Decepticon worth their rust stick could, they were trained by Soundwave on this. An endlessly boring joor later Prowl was curtly telling him to proceed to the Prime's office... and that was when the butterflies awoke again, fluttering in his tank. Drift had never met Optimus Prime before, he was sure of that. As for Deadlock... well, he might have had, he wasn't as sure. Deadlock's battlefield memories were hazy for a lot of battles – battle lust and berserking made for poor memory records. But then, he wasn't as high ranked as a Decepticon to go against the enemy leader, so it might be that they have never met. 

It was also too much to assume that Optimus Prime knew a lot about him, either as Deadlock or as Drift. He had just never been that important or dangerous. Well, maybe Deadlock was, but still not on the level of the Autobot leader knowing a single Decepticon soldier. It was most likely to be just a 'makes sure he's actually safe and won't betray us' session, aided by the Matrix and probably some uncomfortable looks back to the Deadlock-memories... but Primus only knew what he would see in those memories and whether he would believe Drift in that they were firmly the past and that he was an Autobot now, he was Drift and he was... well, not exactly harmless, but unlikely to betray their faction at least. 

“Sir, Optimus Prime. Drift is reporting as ordered, Sir...”

Drift executed the most flawless military salute in his whole functioning – it never hurts to be rule-abiding or appear so – and ruthlessly stamped down on the butterflies fluttering nervously inside. Not that the great Optimus Prime has seen any of it. He was nowhere to be seen in the office, which was why Drift's crisp salute tapered off to an uncertain, questioning 'sir?'.

“Ohhh... it's... I'm sorry, I appear to be in a bit of a predicament... you are Drift, aren't you?”

The voice came from behind the huge desk that was big enough to dwarf Drift and certainly capable of hiding even Optimus Prime should he choose to do so.... but why would he?

Drift swallowed. Nothing in the Autobot Code came to his processor that would be helpful in the situation, so he fell back to protocol.

“Sir, yes, Sir! Drift, reporting as ordered.”

“Sure, sure...”

Drift tried to look over the desk to see what caused the Prime to hide behind it. Simultaneously he tried not to appear too curious, in case it was a faux pas. 

“Actually... could you help me out perhaps?”

Optimus Prime's deep bariton sounded a bit... muffled and breathless and Drift really, really didn't want to think about why could it be like that. Inevitably it reminded him the time when he chanced on Springer and what sounded maybe like Rodimus behind a similarly big desk and sounding all breathless and muffled and the air stank of ozone and Drift backed out of the office hoping that none heard him, just like he backed out of the memory now, thoroughly embarrassed...

“Yes... Sir?”

“Please? Drift, I, ummm.. appear to be stuck here. My stylus fell and I came down here to pick it up but it rolled deeper under the desk and... well, now I appear to be stuck as something caught me in a really sensitive place and if I damage it, Ratchet will shout at me again, so...”

Drift stared. That was the great Optimus Prime, the holder of the Matrix, the Chosen of Primus, and all that slag… stuck under his own desk? Deadlock deep down tried to facepalm.

“Sure... I mean yes, Sir!”

He approached the desk from the side and when he got around it he tried hard not to laugh. Or cackle or snort or to make any similar sound. The great Optimus Prime was almost fully under his desk and only a blue backside was visible out from under it. It was a shapely backside at that, Drift conceeded, no surprise that Megatron was so obsessed with it. Deadlock, in the meanwhile was calculating ways how an assassin could finish off the Autobot faction forever and earn his way back to... Drift stomped on that thought as ruthlessly as he did on Deadlock. He was not going to do any of that and Deadlock could just... stuff it.

The desk had an opening in the middle of the a back, framed by rows of drawers on both sides. That opening was nearly filled with Optimus Prime's great frame, Drift for a klik even pondered how he got there and how he fit... but he wasn't surprised how he couldn't get out again. There was just no way he could turn and if something sensitive got caught... well, he wasn't even sure how he could help. A minibot maybe, or rather a microbot would be more helpful. Drift was certainly not a big frame, especially not compared to Optimus Prime, but the space under the desk was still rather small and most of it taken up by a red-blue frame.

Still, he was asked and not somemech else to help, so help he would. And Deadlock could still stuff it with the new, though less vicious thoughts about a primely – and shapely! - blue backside. Drift was careful not to glance there as he lowered himself to the floor and squirmed beside the Prime into the cosy and full space under the desk. It was hot too with two mechanisms occupying such a small, enclosed space. Not, Drift tried to convince himself, not because Deadlock's thoughts were increasingly lewd and less appropriate by the kklik.

“There, to the right a bit...” Optimus directed him the best he could, but space was finite and Drift was soon plastered intimately over the aforementioned primely backside, trying not to think what an accidental visitor would see of them, what was visible from under the desk. He also tried to ignore the way Optimus Prime was shifting and moving beside and slightly under him, because damn it, it wasn't just the Prime's frame that had sensitive bits and the way he moved, well, some primely metal was poking right under the edge of his chestplate and it excited a long line of sensors in his right side. Deadlock's lewd thoughts in the background had just became a lot harder to ignore. 

“It's my antenna, the right one. Got caught, umm... right on the underside of the desk and not moving any way. Ouch...”

“Sorry, sorry...”

Drift fumbled a bit, flustered after poking the Prime into the optic, but he couldn't see the antenna in question, so he had to guesstimate where to reach... and that guess was apparently wrong. His digits slid over the edge of the helmet, found a raised knob on the right – and that sound defintely wasn't one of pain that the Prime made and suddenly his HUD informed Drift that the temperature under the desk has risen another few degrees... Deadlock leered and gained control for a nanoklik, stroking over the knob again before Drift wrestled his composure back again. 

“That... ummm, that too is sensitive...”

The Prime's voice was strained and breathless. Deadlock and Drift both found it.... well, curious. And enticing. And strange.

“I'm sorry...?” though he wasn't, not really any more. Drift gave up trying to keep his frame from touching the red-blue one so close, so hot, so... squirmy... and let Deadlock have his fun. 

“No, no, it's just...”

“Just?”

There was a long, heavy, hot silence for an eternal nanoklik before the Prime answered.

“I don't ...ouch!... usually get acquainted with mechs under desks... so... I'm sorry about... this.”

“As good a place as any.”

His butterflies has all disappeared, Drift discovered. His digits slid over the antenna's length, the smooth metal hot under his servo and twitched as it as freed from the small tangle of cables hanging from the underside of the desk. Deadlock grinned, in that dangerous way of his, showing fangs, but violence was very far from his processor. 

“And I'm not sorry at all. If you don't mind that it's... me.”

“Ahhh... yes. The former Decepticon. Prowl warned me about you, you know? To be honest... everyone warned me about you.”

Just as Drift assumed. Some of the butterflies returned and Deadlock snarled inside. The two clashed rather interestingly and cooled his mood rather effectively.

“I'm an Autobot now.”

“I know.” There was a smile in the deep vocals felt, rather than seen, not a mocking smile, but a honest one. “I can feel you.”

Damn Matrix. Drift's nervousness returned in full force. 

“Don't be. I don't read processors, despite of what mechs might say. And I didn't call you here to interrogate you either.”

Yeah, sure. Like Deadlock would believe that. Not even Drift did, not fully. But he tried to keep the bitterness out of his field, not an easy thing in such close quarters. He also started to squirm out from said cramped quarters, the earlier arousal cooling rather quickly. It was totally inappropriate anyway, now that he thought of it.

“Drift...”

A servo stopped his retreat, gently, not by force, just a presence that wasn't accidental touching between two mechs in such close quarters. The Prime's field enveloped him as well, his presence, his benevolence, his... honesty? It was overwhelming, but not in any bad way, it was heedy and encompassing, like a shot of high-grade, like a processor-blowing overload, like... Primus?

“Not Primus, I'm afraid, but close.” A chuckle sounded close to his audial and it trembled from the wash of hot exvent, from the resonance of that deep vocalizer so close... “It's the Matrix. It is not malevolent, it is not trying to discover the darkness within your spark... every mech has secrets and a past. What counts is who you are now... Drift.”

Who he was? Drift wasn't sure. Deadlock certainly didn't drop dead or disappear when he reverted his name and changed allegiance, but he wasn't going to say that out loud.

“Your aggressive side is not Deadlock, even if you name it as such. It is not a separate person from you.” The Prime paused and continued with a wry grin. “But I suggest taking this conversation out from under my desk. Intimate as it is, befitting the topic, but my neck is getting crinked.”

“Sure...” He was glad for the chance to escape the closeness. Interesting that it was for a number of reasons, he felt... intimidated by the Matrix, by the way Optimus Prime appeared to see into him – he knew it was going to be, but nothing, no mere knowledge could prepare him for the actual experience. And Deadlock definitely didn't like it if his snarling inside was any indication. They squirmed out from the close confines of the under-desk space with difficulty – both their frames had plenty of pointy bits of kibble that could and would get caught on each other, leading to further awkward contacts and tries to separate them.

Drift was glad when he could finally stand and help Optimus Prime to back out and stand as well. They were still running several degrees of hotter than the situation warranted or explained and though Drift felt intimidated still, his frame responded to inadvertent stimulus just like it was intentional. And Primus damn it, the Prime was hot, well, in every way. Not his type, no, definitely not... but still. Something drew him towards the mech like magnet would a mechafly... and something made Optimus Prime run hot as well, much hotter than their close predicament would cause...

“Come, sit on the couch. There's no need to stand around my desk aimlessly. I think I've had enough of the awkward for this orn.”

The back of the office was arranged with a couch and an armchair, probably to entertain visiting dignitaries and Drift nodded as the Prime led them to the couch and sat down. Optimus produced a dusty bottle from somewhere and a pair of fancy cubes.

“Will you let me apolgize for the undoubtedly harrowing experience of being close to me in a cramped space? And also thank you for helping me out from a frankly embarrassing situation?”

The dusty bottle contained a high-grade probably older than the two of them combined and one Drift has never tasted before Deadlock. Even Deadlock only knew of it from a long-gone but memorable occasion of getting trashed with a certain Seeker... 

“Sure... I mean, of course I helped...”

“Still, I'd like to thank you for it.”

Optimus poured a few digits' worth of a purple liquid so deep it almost looked black, if not for the highlights and offered one of the cubes to Drift. He took it hesitantly. High grade was not something he indulged in often – it took away too many inhibitions and reminded him uncomfortably to other highs. But stilll... it wasn't often that the leader of the Autobots offered him a drink way beyond him, and well, it was barely a mouthful anyway. So Drift took the drink and saluted the Prime with it, like civilized mechs did, like he learned in Chrystal City... and he was saluted back with a nod from the mech and they drank... and Drift suddenly realized that the face of the Prime was no longer masked, the plates he always wore closed now split apart and revealed... a perfectly ordinary face in every respect, sligthly smiling like he noticed the attention but didn't mind it... and yes, Drift thought, after the intimacy of their frames under the desk, something as minor as showing his face should be a minor reveal. It enboldened him as well... as it did Deadlock.

“It was... and educational experience.”

“Ohh...? In what way, if I may ask?”

“Taught me the exact shape of a Prime's frame. Also, how interestingly... hot it gets in certain situations... ”

He was sure that Optimus's face pinked up a little at that, but he didn't reprimand him or close off. If anything his field flared out almost as hot as it was under the desk. 

“I admit, I am... susceptible to certain touches. Naturally, they were unavoidable in that situation.”

It was an out, should he take it, that much Drift was sure. But Deadlock didn't want an out, he wanted a… a Prime.

“Touches... such as these...?”

His free servo closed the distance between them on the couch and the clawtip lightly slid around the circumference of a tire. He had noticed before that they were sensitive and he wanted to elicit the same reaction... and there it was. Optimus's optics widened and there was a hitch in his ventillation, a twitch in the tire itself and Dedlock grinned. Dead on. Butterflies? What butterflies?

“Such as... these, yes... and others... if you don't mind experimenting, that is.”

“Not at all, Sir... Optimus?” 

He scooted closer and explored a bit more the thigh-tires. They were curiously sensitive for tires – Deadlock knew that his own did nothing to him, so it was a real surprise – but the Prime's frame had plenty other sensitive spots as well. Drift explored and reaped the reactions, and he wasn't surprised when a large servo started to fondle his audial, he went for the Prime's antennae instead. Dual gasps and hot fields flaring out, touching each other affirmed that their frames very much shared sensitivity in that area. The distance between them was soon down to mere centimeters and Drift felt the full force of that powerful field, so much like Megatron's in this respect, though its... flavor was entirely different, far less dominant, far less aggressive... but equally hot in pleasure. And that large servo was eerily familiar, though a lot less rough than Megatron's, encompassing his audial in a way that awakened a little of those butterflies deep inside... but it was now Drift who had chased away Deadlock's memories about rough servos bending, grabbing and damaging them, because the Prime was doing nothing of the kind, he would never do something like that, his touch was gentle, but sensuous, sure but never too rough, just perfect...

… and not as dominant, not as demanding as Deadlock half-feared, half expected. The Prime was content to let Drift lead, let him dictate the tempo, let him slide over him on the narrow couch and straddle those long, slender, but powerful thights, allowed him to rub his heating panel on his own and Deadlock, too got emboldened to be more dominant... something he was not accustomed to when it came to larger mechs. Size and power in the Decepticon army very much determined who was the dominant – and Deadlock, for all his agressivity, violence and rank, was not a large mech. But his nature was still such, urging him to dominate his partners – and the result was that while a Decepticon, he had few partners and most of them not willingly. Case in point, he thought with an aggressive snarl, was Turmoil. Neither respected like Deadlock did Megatron, nor desired, like he felt for Seekers – the big mech casually used his rank and size to get what he wanted, how he wanted, whom he wanted.

He was told in no uncertain terms how much that sort of thing was forbidden among the Autobots, but then, in both Drift's and Deadlock's experience, laws were always more idealistic than reality and those upholding them were less than perfect. So, the Prime being all pliant and compliant under him was a very pleasant surprise - but a very welcome one as well. And he knew how to use his size and power even in a sub position as well. Deadlock had never suspected how much a large servos cupping his aft gently would fire his circuits, how much those servos lifting him easily would rev his engine. He was on top, but still being handled, and the dictohomy of that was strange... but not disagreeable.

He gave as good as he got, seeking out and finding Optimus's hotspots – the mech had plenty of those, not being a warrior model his plating had plenty of gaps where his smaller digits could sneak under and stroke live circuitry, slide on throbbing tubes and engorge flashing nodes... and rub onto the emerging spike that was, well, sizeable. His own emerged too and for a few glorious kliks their shafts got acquainted, rubbed and slid on each other in his firm grip... it was hot, and entirely too pleasurable. But not what Deadlock craved for by this time. Rising slightly with the help of Optimus, he reached lower to dip a digit or two between the slick lips slowly opening up. Optimus moaned and drew him closer for a kiss, unabashedly widening his legs and offering his valve for Drift. 

He took the offering eagerly, pushing one, then two digits into the slick chanel as deep as they would go and reaping the moans Optimus made for his ministrations. It was heady to see the great mech so open and enjoying his ministrations, so responsive to his touches. Deadlock never before thought of the Prime as sensual or any sort of eager to interface so he was still a bit incredulous – but he very obviously was, so Drift enjoyed the Pit out of it. He broke their kiss and pulled out his digits from the slick, lubricant-weeping valve and to his absolute delight, the Prime showed no reluctance whatsoever when the digits tapped his lips. He licked his own lubricants from Drift's digits with delight while the swordsmech pushed in his spike into the eager, welcoming, tight chanel of his valve... and it was both hot as the Pit and Drift groaned along with Deadlock at the sight and the feel of that slick heat encompassing him above and below...

Optimus helped him to move too, those big servos pulled and pushed his aft closer to fully sink his spike into his valve despite the somewhat awkward position. Drift was glad for the assistance – he refused to even think himself inadequate, but the truth was that Optimus was a much bigger mech and had a much bigger valve... calipers spiralled down on his length to grip him as he started to thrust in earnest and they felt wonderful, they felt amazing, they felt hotter than stars... Optimus pulled him closer again and instead of his digits he kissed Drift properly again, glossa almost as agressively mapping his mouth as Drift's spike plowed his valve, even the rhythm was nearly in tune. 

He wasn't going to last at this rate, Drift thought dazedly, the Prime... Optimus was just too overpowering, too hot, his calipers doing wicked things to his spike that made Deadlock even see stars, ramping up his charge spectacularly in a short order... but he made sure to give as good as he got and when he felt Optimus faltering and gasping as his valve started to undualte around him Drift snarled and doubled his tempo. He poured all Deadlock's agressivity and determination into it, he poured all his devotion and will to prove himself even in this way... and when he lost it, shouting incoherently as he rammed his spike deep, as deep as it would go and emptied himself into the eager valve... he heard Optimus's deeper shout as well and the calipers tightened like vices around him, milking the last drop from his spike, wringing the last erg from his frame...

Drift sluped forward, spent, utterly spent, onto the Prime's frame and only Deadlock managed a tired-but-satisfied half-smirk before succumbing to a hard reboot. Dimly he felt large servos tightening around him and the Prime's field encompassing him again... and he knew that he didn't leave Optimus hanging, that those deep, gasping vents he heard were the Prime coming down from his own heights, the heights he pushed him to attain, succumb and enjoy... 

And after a few kliks of frantic venting and gasps, lefotver moans and hypersensitive plating twitching as it was touched... after a rise from the depths of plesure and its aftermath... Deadlock was the first to rear his helm. Decepticons don't ever fully succumb to pleasure. Or so they claim. The truth is that it is a race to re-emerge first, to regain senses and to be the first to greet and maybe mock the partner. The first such sounds are out of his vocalizer when Drift surges up panicked and ruthlessly locks down to it. The result inevitably a feedback-screech of embarrassing proportions and an almost Starscream-like tone. 

Optimus's optics are still clouded as he looks questioningly – the sound was unfortunately one that can't be explained away easily even with full faculties available. Drift, still hazy from his overload just murmurs something embarrassed and pulls out hurriedly. Or he would, if those strong arms and large servos would let him. 

“Y' don't have to hurry...” Optimus says and only the proximity makes Drift understand the mumbled words. “Stay...”

Who knew the leader of the Autobots was an avid cuddler?

It was another half joor before his embarrassingly strong grip loosened and he let Drift sit up properly. By that time he was in no hurry either. Deadlock slept, sated, sure of safety and goodwill and Drift had a pretty good time himself as well. Not that it wasn't still awkward to get up and stand and avoid looking at Optimus as he wiped away the evidence of their coupling. Damned butterflies fluttering in his tank yet again.

“Drift... there is nothing to be embarrassed about.” Optimus appeared perfectly normal to him, the fragger. “We interfaced. Both of us consented to it and both of us enjoyed it. Why are you feeling... bad?”

“I'm not!” Because the first rule Deadlock knew was to deny anything he was accused of or made him look weak. “I just... it's just... awkward. We never met before.”

It was just an excuse and by his laugh Optimus perceived it as such. They stood paces apart now, Drift stiffly in half-assed attention and audials canted back in embarrassment while Optimus was looking perfectly normal and relaxed – if still running hot and his field a riot, but outwardly nothing showed that he just had a spectacular overload.

“Look... consider me just another Autobot then, not Optimus Prime. It wasn't why I wanted to meet you, but it was a time well spent and I didn't regret that it came to this.”

His smirk rivalled Megatrons in smugness. Deadlcok snarled, annoyed. Nomech should toy with him! Drift stomped on him for once, as ruthlessly as he could. Optimus was not toying, he was just... the Prime.

“I... can't say I regretted it either.”

“Good.” That was a honest smile this time. “I hope you continue to enjoy the Autobot side. If not just for the ideoogy, then for such... activities. There is something for interfacing without background plots and power plays, don't you think?”

Drift lifted his helm and stared into those blue optics – dimly noting that it was the first time he did so during the evening – and swallowed. Deadlock drew to the background, silent for once, knowing it was him, who got called out now. The butterflies flapped last and were gone. In the sudden silence of his processor, Drift forgot the awkwardness, the complications, the embarrassment...

“Yes... yes.” He smiled faintly and nodded. “Thank you... Lord Prime, Sir.”

“Just Optimus, please. We are entitled to simply use names after an interface.”

Drift smiled faintly and nodded.

“Thank you... Optimus.”

“You are more than welcome... Drift.”

Nomech bothered him further before he returned to the Wreckers.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if you find a mistake or typo - I don't have a spell checker now. If you find one and it bothers you, just point it out and I'll fix it.


End file.
